


Caring

by LulaIsAKitten



Series: The Ambush series [6]
Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-05-12
Packaged: 2019-05-04 02:29:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14582955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LulaIsAKitten/pseuds/LulaIsAKitten
Summary: Just a little piece of fluff because Cormoran is a sweetie <3





	Caring

Robin woke early in the morning to cramps and nausea. Oh, yay, she thought. One of those months. She rolled to face the wall, curling up and wishing she was at home where her hot water bottle and camomile tea were. Not like me to wish I wasn’t in Cormoran’s bed, she thought ruefully. She dozed fitfully for a while, considering getting up and making tea but mostly trying to lie still so as not to worsen the pain. Nausea rose and subsided in waves. 

The radio burbled into life at eight. Next to her, Strike stirred, stretched, rolled towards her. “Morning,” he murmured sleepily into her hair, sliding his arm around her waist - or starting to. She batted him away crossly, felt him pause and lift his head to look at her, surprised.

“Ugh, stop it,” she muttered, knowing she was being mean but not wanting to be touched and particularly not in that way. She still had her back to him but could practically hear his raised eyebrow.

“Okaaaay,” he said, “this is new. You all right?”

“I’m fine,” she snapped, in pain and cross with herself for being grumpy and for being mean to him. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him. Tears pricked in her eyes so she closed them.

There was a pause. Strike looked down at her, at her pale cheek, her drawn-up knees, and counted back in his head.

“Right,” he said, understanding dawning. He rolled away, and she heard him sit up, strap on his leg, heard him moving about, pulling clothes on. To her surprise, he left the flat, his footsteps fading down the stairs. She lay still, feeling guilty and cross and sick and tearful, vaguely wondering if she was going to throw up and trying to ignore the cramps.

He returned ten minutes later and sat on the edge of the bed. “Right,” he said again, reaching over her to place something deliciously warm against her sore stomach. “Heat pack. It’s the one I use on my knee when it’s playing up, but I’ve wrapped it in a pillowcase.”

She heard him putting things on the bedside table. “Paracetamol. The plainest biscuits I could find. Cup of tea. Or would you prefer hot chocolate? And I brought the laptop up in case you insist on working, but I think you should take the day off. I can handle your one meeting.”

Robin’s eyes filled with tears again. “Bless you,” she whispered. “Thank you. Sorry for being such a grouch.” She turned her head to look at him, wincing a little at the pain in her stomach. “How did you know?”

He smiled at her. “I can count,” he said. He smoothed her hair with his big hand. “Go back to sleep if you want. There’s nothing urgent to do today that can’t wait.”

“I might,” she said, feeling the warmth of the heat pack soothing her pain, and allowing her eyes to drift closed. Strike leaned over and pressed a kiss to her clammy forehead.

“Text me if you need anything,” he said. “I’ll bring more tea up later. Um...” he paused. “Do you need me to get... supplies?”

“I’m okay, thank you,” she whispered. “Got some in my bag.”

He nodded. “I’m popping out later anyway to get some bits for lunch, so I can get more. Or chocolate, or anything you need.”

“Camomile tea would be nice,” she murmured. He smiled again. “I’ll fetch some,” he said gently. “You sleep.”

Robin was already drifting off as he left.

...

Mid-morning, Strike carried a steaming mug of camomile tea up the stairs to his flat. He let himself in as quietly as he could, and went through to the bedroom. Robin was asleep, curled up on her other side now. He placed the mug on the bedside table and stood and looked at her, marvelling at how she could still look so gorgeous when she clearly felt so rubbish. He longed to climb into the bed next to her, to stroke her hair, kiss her pale cheek, but he didn’t want to wake her, so instead he took the empty mug from earlier and quietly left.

Twenty minutes later at his desk, his phone pinged. “Thank you,” Robin had texted, and he smiled.

...

Robin had expected to be alone that evening. Feeling a little better, she had decided to do some work. She had pulled one of Strike’s jumpers on over her pyjamas and it dwarfed her, but it was warm and comforting and smelled of him. She was sitting up in the bed, laptop on her knees, typing up some notes from her phone for Corporate Guy, when she heard Strike’s heavy tread on the stairs. He entered the flat and in a moment poked his head round the bedroom door. He smiled at the sight of her, rumpled and scruffy, almost buried in his jumper, but looking a little brighter, he thought.

“Hi,” he said softly. “I brought Chinese. Are you eating in bed or can you make it to the table?” he winked at her and she laughed. “I think I can manage to move as far as the table,” she said.

He disappeared and she could hear him clumping about, fetching plates and cutlery. “When did you last have painkillers?” he called. “Can you have wine?”

“Oh, wine sounds great,” she said, and hauled herself out of bed to go and join him. The nausea had finally eased and the food smelled good. Strike passed her a glass of white.

“Bought you a present,” he indicated the Tesco bag on the table. “Not very well wrapped.” He grinned.

Robin peered into the bag. It contained a new hot water bottle, camomile tea bags, a large bar of Dairy Milk and a pack of sanitary towels - the brand she normally bought, she noted. How could he possibly have known that?

“Thought maybe you’d like to keep emergency supplies here,” he said, opening takeaway lids. She smiled at him. “You’re so sweet,” she said, leaning across and pulling his head down to kiss his cheek. “Thank you. And after I was so rude to you this morning.” She looked ashamed.

Strike chuckled. “Hey, what guy doesn’t want to hear ‘ugh, stop it’ when he tries to cozy up to his girlfriend in the morning?” he teased, and Robin giggled. “Sorry about that,” she said.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, smiling. “Normally it’s me being grumpy, but you’re allowed a turn occasionally.”

“Let’s eat,” he went on. “I’ve declared a night off. Redhead can party without me tonight. I’ve got a DVD for us to watch after dinner.”

Robin sighed. “You’re just too perfect,” she said, smiling.

He grinned. “I try,” he said with pretend modesty.

...


End file.
